Walking Wounded
by Primadonna
Summary: AU set 3 years after "As You Were". Everyone comes back to help Buffy in the biggest apocalypse yet. Very cryptic beginnings.
1. Cryptic Beginnings

Title: Walking Wounded  
  
Author: Primadonna (e-mail me at Primadonna141@hotmail.com)  
  
Rating: As of now, G, will be R.  
  
Summary: AU. Set after "As You Were", and this is three years later; that means Spike doesn't have a soul and he and Buffy still called it quits, Tara isn't dead, Willow never went psycho, Giles is still gone, and Xander and Anya are still together. But Buffy is a school counsellor, it's the job I always had in mind for her. Whew, got all that? Ok, now. The Scooby gang is still close, but have moved on. Buffy still lives at home, Dawn's away at university and everyone else has moved away. An apocalypse story.  
  
Pairing: Buffy Spike, like ALL of my fiction.  
  
Disclaimers: I do not own the show and characters.  
  
  
  
  
  
She was halfway up the tree before she remembered she didn't have to sneak around anymore- even Dawn was gone now. Ah well, she thought to herself, I'll do it for old times sake. Times before her mom knew she was the slayer. When Dawn was a little brat, a sister instead of a dependant. Sometimes these moments were nice, she could pretend whatever she wanted. She needed these moments.  
  
She dropped her bag of stakes on the floor of her room, and pulled herself through the window of her darkened bedroom. The shadows were still, and she could only feel like something was wrong. Before she was all the way in a familiar figure caught her eye.  
  
"Richard? What are you doing here?" Her boyfriend turned on the lamp beside her bed. Sitting in her chair, he looked eerily like Ted.  
  
"Hey, Buffy. Just came to see you, y'know, since we had to cancel our anniversary plans last night." He sounded slightly annoyed, the same tone of voice he had had when she'd called him up to tell him she couldn't make it. Buffy choked down her own irritation. It wasn't her fault a group of vampires had made their nest near the high school. Not like she could ever tell him, though.  
  
"Yeah, sorry honey, I wasn't feeling too great, so I just stayed in bed. I'm better now though-"  
  
He cut her off. "I know you weren't sick. I came by last night; chicken soup and all, to nurse you back to health. You weren't here."  
  
Damn, Buffy, c'mon. You used to be so good at thinking on your feet.  
  
She just stood there, though, and stared from her shoes to Mr. Gordo, her stuffed pig on her bed, to the bag at her feet. She quickly shoved it under her bed. She really was slipping, after years of not having to be secret identity gal.  
  
When she didn't respond, Richard stood up. "Buffy, I just want to know what's going on. And you won't talk to me." Another pregnant pause. "Are you seeing someone else?"  
  
"Do you mean to say, am I cheating on you?"  
  
"Exactly, Buffy."  
  
God, did he always repeat her name every other word? It was really starting to piss her off.  
  
"Well, Richard, let me see. Last night I cancelled our 8-month anniversary plans so that I could go out. So yes, I guess I have been seeing other people."  
  
Granted the 5 men she'd gone to seen hadn't been terribly happy to see her and had survived for only a couple of minutes, and hadn't been Buffy's idea of fun. But Richard didn't know that, and she really didn't care.  
  
"Wow. All right. I guess it's over then." Richard walked to the door. "It is that simple, is it, Buffy?"  
  
Buffy faked a wide-eyed look of dismay. "I'm sorry to say it is, Richard. You can let yourself out, right?"  
  
All the poor boy could do was nod, as he left the room. He had been in her house just enough to know where her door was. Where did he get off coming into her house when she wasn't home? Sitting in her room in the dark, as if he had the right to reprimand her? Or, more importantly, how could she have spent eight months dating the guy steady, and not be even a little upset?  
  
As Buffy pulled her hair from the clasp on top of her head, she hit the button on her answering machine when she saw the red messages light flashing.  
  
"Buffy? It's Giles. Call me as soon as you can, it is of grave importance. My number is 01-648-555-3453. Pay no mind to the time, just call me as soon as you get in."  
  
She reached for the phone.  
  
"Buffy?" He answered the first ring, having it beside him amongst all the books that he was nearly lost in.  
  
"Hey, Giles. Got your message. How are you?" She worried about him. After he'd left Sunnydale 3 years before he'd been sent from library to library by the council, almost as penance for being the watcher of a rogue slayer. The past few times she'd talked to him, which was quite often, he'd noticeably been under more strain.  
  
"I've been better." He took a breath, unsure how to tell Buffy about the impending news. "I'm afraid we have something. emerging from the woodwork, you might say, and fairly soon."  
  
"What is it? Another addition to Sunnydale's nasties?" She tried to sound nonchalant, although she knew by the way Giles was talking how serious it was.  
  
"I really can't say over the phone, I've sent a courier. It should take a few days, even though I sent it express. I'm sort of tucked away in an out of the way corner of the world."  
  
"You're not in Budapest anymore? I hate not being able to tell when you've moved somewhere new. Only downside to that cell phone I got you."  
  
"Yes, well, I never have like the blasted contraption. Buffy, maybe you should call in everyone. Willow, Tara, Xander, Anya, and. Spike. The Scoobies."  
  
"Really that bad?"  
  
"Yes, it is. I'll come too, as soon as I'm finished my research here. Be especially careful, make sure no one knows you're calling them in. The fewer who know, the better."  
  
"Cryptic much, Giles?"  
  
He gave a dry chuckle. "Yes, sorry to say I'm in. Call them in the morning, all right? I'll call you tomorrow evening."  
  
"Bye, Giles."  
  
She hung up, then reached for her address book. Of everyone, she knew one that would be up this late.  
  
  
  
"Hello?" A large man grabbed the phone by the bar. "Yes, miss, one minute, I'll see if he's around." He looked around the crowded room, searching out a familiar blond head. " Boss! Phone!" He yelled to be heard over the band and the general noise of the crowd.  
  
Spike's head shot up, nodded to the other man, then quickly made his way across the bar full of demons and people alike.  
  
"Thanks, Marv. Hello?"  
  
"Spike?" A voice said uncertainly.  
  
"Hey, pet!" A genuine smile broke out on Spike's face, one of his few. "How are you? How's the bit?"  
  
Must be her, Marvin thought to himself, shaking his head as he took orders at the bar. He liked seeing his boss happy, made him easier to work with. Maybe when he got off the phone he'd ask for next weekend off. Timing was everything, they said. With William the Bloody, that statement was 100 per cent true.  
  
"We're both doing all right. How about you?"  
  
"Holding up. The bar's doing great, you should see the crowd tonight. But, I know you wouldn't call now to chat, so what's up?" He knew her too well, and he cut to the chase. If she needed something, he'd sure as hell make sure she got it.  
  
Buffy hesitated, now feeling bad for asking. "Giles says there's grave danger and all that. He was pretty cryptic, all he told me was to round up the Scooby gang. So, I just wanted to call you up, fill you in, but you seem pretty busy with the bar-"  
  
"Nothing that can't be taken care of by my crew, with a few directions. I'll be there by tomorrow night, luv."  
  
"Thanks, Spike. Knew I could count on you."  
  
"Always, Buffy. See you in a few hours, get some sleep."  
  
He hung up the phone, then turned to Marv. "You're in charge, for however long I'll be away. Call in extra staff, whatever you need, but I want you here, or at least on 24-hour call, all right?" When he saw the larger man's crestfallen face, Spike added, "You're my best, wouldn't trust it to anyone else. You'll even get a paid vacation at the end of this, all right? How's Tahiti for you and the missus sound?"  
  
Spike didn't wait for a response, just hurried downstairs to his apartment to pack a bag. He could still get a few hours of driving in between San Diego and Sunnydale before the sun came up.  
  
Thankful for the longer winter nights, Spike was able to reach the Summer's residence just as the sun's light peaked over the horizon. He silently slid his motorcycle into the driveway and hurried to the porch where Buffy was already waiting with the front door open.  
  
"Hey," she mumbled groggily. "I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow."  
  
"Good to see you too, luv," he grinned.  
  
"It is good to see you," she answered a little quickly. "You didn't have to hurry though, the others won't get here until sometime tonight." Buffy yawned widely.  
  
"You haven't slept yet, have you?" Five am, and she was still awake. Her eyes were dark and heavy, and her hair flew around her head like a halo. She was beautiful, as Spike always thought she was, but he truly wanted to kill the watcher for the first time in years for worrying her so badly. The Watcher was the only one who could do this to her.  
  
"S'all right luv, just thought I may as well come a day early, didn't have anything better to do." He didn't exactly lie; he had had an appointment with a pretty big client, but the club wasn't his life, it was just something to really do for fun. His top priority was her, and if she needed help he was there. Like now.  
  
TBC- the next chapter will take off right from this point. 


	2. Visitors and phone calls

Spike dropped his bag as Buffy stepped aside to let him in.  
  
"So, besides Rupert getting you into a right tizzy, how are you luv?"  
  
Buffy gave a weak smile. "I'm all right. Everything's been all right around her, just-"  
  
"Quiet?"  
  
She nodded a bit grimly. "Yeah. It may be kinda morbid, but when something wicked this way comes at least there's something I can fight. The regular 8 to 4 five days a week, every week, is just not enough. And slaying's just getting. quiet, too. At least when you're fighting you can't fear the worst. I just, I don't know, need this." She paused and began to trace the grooves in the door. "Do you think that's morbid?"  
  
Spike gave her his most sincere look. "It's not morbid at all. You're a Slayer, you're meant to fight."  
  
He suddenly looked around in mock fright. "Speaking of violence towards vampires, shouldn't little Richie be here dismembering me right now?"  
  
The last time Spike had been in town a few months previously Richard hadn't liked Buffy staying with Spike, particularly when Buffy kicked out her own boyfriend for the couple of nights. "Easier than explaining the closed drapes and blood smell," Buffy had shrugged.  
  
"You don't need to worry about him," was all she said, but he knew what she meant.  
  
"Right," he answered, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. He knew the Slayer had been getting tired of little Richie.  
  
"So, uh, if you want to get some sleep, just throw everything into mom's old room. I 'm just going to." she trailed off, her eyes turning towards the living room.  
  
"Pet. Vampire, remember? If I sleep now what will I do all day tomorrow?" Spike checked his watch. "Or today, as it seems. Let me just throw my things upstairs."  
  
Joyce's room remained pretty much intact since she had died, with a few changes from Willow and Tara's time in the household. Not long after Spike had left Sunnydale for San Diego the two witches had picked up and left, both transferring to Oxford. Rather than the floral patterns Buffy had remodelled the room in blues and grey, something he was pretty sure she had done since he had started to visit, staying in this room.  
  
Spike set his bag on the navy comforter and looked around, everything as it had been two months previously. A picture of Joyce and her two daughters at the beach rested on the dresser. Spike picked up the ornate wood frame and marvelled at twelve-year old Buffy. Before her parents had split up. Before she had become protector of the Universe.  
  
The was no doubt she had toughened over the last three years, with everyone moved away and not allowing herself to get close to anyone. She had been seeing Richard for eight months and he had never known she was the Slayer. Buffy at eighteen would never have been able to do that. The new Buffy at 24, the oldest living Slayer Spike could remember, had never even considered telling her boyfriend.  
  
Spike had urged her over the last six weeks to tell Richard, to make her life easier, but she didn't budge. She didn't trust Richard, even when she wouldn't come out and say it. Spike could read her every gesture now, every look burned into his memory.  
  
When he went back downstairs and into the living room he found Buffy asleep on the sofa, a blanket tucked under her chin. Spike made sure her feet were covered then sat across from her in the chair.  
  
She was much more tired than she was letting on. She was probably patrolling twice a night, every night. Something solid. Why had all of her friends left? She wasn't used to doing this alone. It had been two years and eight months since he had left, four months after soldier boy's hideous return and Buffy had ended whatever had been between them. For those four months in between the two of them had tried to piece their wary friendship together, but the second time they relapsed and had fallen into bed he had known it was time to leave. He was killing her then and he had no intention of being her suicide.  
  
Two years since he had first opened his bar, which had yet to find a name. He had never even had to advertise, the underworld did it for him. Vampires, demons and humans alike came to see William the Bloody, and it became quite popular. Sometimes Spike even graced his clientele with a gruesome story, much like he had done for Dawn.  
  
Sometime between thinking of Buffy and dreaming of Buffy Spike fell asleep.  
  
  
  
Spike woke up to the sound of the phone ringing. He was still in the chair, the blanket Buffy had fallen asleep with now wrapped around him. The phone rang and Spike stared at it for a moment, listening for any movement in the house. He heard the shower overhead. He decided to let the machine get it and pick it up if it was Giles. He would get a straight answer out of the man.  
  
"Hi, this is Buffy's machine, leave a message. Beep."  
  
"Hey Buffy, you better be in the shower and not still in bed or you're gonna be late. Call me before you go to work, I-"  
  
"Bit?" Spike grabbed the receiver. "Hey there."  
  
"Hey Spike!" Dawn exclaimed happily. "What are you doing in Sunydale? And why haven't you visited me at Berkley yet?"  
  
Spike, knowing instinctively that Buffy wouldn't want her baby sister involved, tried to lie as little as possible.  
  
"Just here on some business, bit. For the bar. Gotta pick up some stuff that only the Hellmouth can supply and all that."  
  
"And you're staying with Buffy? Richard must love that."  
  
"Uh, I don't think Richard's in the picture anymore," Spike said. "Nope, don't think we'll be seeing him around."  
  
"Oh, thank God, I hated that dick," Dawn said savagely. "Total whelp, one of the stupidest specimens of the human race."  
  
"Uh huh, and once more with feeling, 'cause I don't think you're very decisive luv," Spike laughed.  
  
"He was self obsessed, Spike. All wrong for her, completely clueless to what she needed."  
  
"Yeah, couldn't agree more." The shower turned off and a second later Spike heard bare feet pad into Buffy's room.  
  
Dawn was thoughtful for a moment. " Spike, what are you really doing there?"  
  
"Nothing, just worry about school. How's Ben?" Spike quickly changed the subject to something he knew Dawn would warm up to.  
  
Dawn's voice became just a little happier at the mention of her boyfriend.  
  
"Spike, you would really like him. The two of you would get along great."  
  
"I don't think I could like anyone you're dating nibblet-"  
  
"His favourite band's the Sex Pistols."  
  
"-but I could learn to tolerate him. Has he got you converted musically where I failed?"  
  
Buffy appeared at the top of the stairs, towel-drying her hair, wearing a black flamenco skirt and a shrunk Go-Go's concert tee.  
  
"Speaking of horrible musical taste, here's your big sis. I'll talk to you later."  
  
"K, Spike, love you!"  
  
"Love you too."  
  
Spike handed the phone over to Buffy. "Hey Dawn. What's-? You're never up this early if you're not in class. oh that's. tonight? Oh, I don't know, I kinda. I know you haven't seen Sp- don't you have finals? Well, midterms then. No, of course we want to- fine, all right. See you tonight. Love you."  
  
Buffy hung up the receiver and sighed. "She's coming down. Tonight."  
  
"Is this a bad thing?" Spike asked innocently.  
  
"It is when we may have a new and improved Sunnydale nasty."  
  
"You can't keep her away from all this. She may not be a Slayer but she's still a Summers. Look at your mother."  
  
"I just want to keep her safe." She checked her watch. "Shit- I'm going to be late!" She ran around the room grabbing her bag and possessions while nearly tripping as she tried to slip on her shoes. "All right, the others are going to be here around 6 or 7. Here's my office number, and I've gotta go! See you tonight."  
  
She turned to the door then impulsively grabbed him by the collar and kissed his jaw line. "Thanks again for coming."  
  
And then she was gone. 


	3. Twenty Questions

"I don't understand why we have to go running every time she calls us," Anya sulked. She and Xander were driving through the desert, the temperature scorching for the time of year. The Jetta made nice time along the desolate highway. She handed Xander the water bottle.  
  
"Honey, Buffy hasn't called the cavalry together once since we moved. She wouldn't even call us- last time. And it's been a year and a half. It'll be nice to see the 'ol Scooby gang together." Xander didn't want to be impatient with Anya. Instead he tried to make it seem more appealing, like they weren't heading blindly into some unknown danger; Anya never liked that much.  
  
She didn't answer him, just snatched the water bottle back, and looked out into the wasteland.  
  
"Look An, you didn't have to come. But if my help's needed to save the world, then yes, I'm going to use my vacation time."  
  
Anya understood where he was coming from but refused to let herself be budged. "She can handle it. We don't even know if it's an apocalypse. And even then she handled the last apocalypse on her own."  
  
The air was heavy between them. Xander spoke levelly, remembering what he was forced to by Anya's statement. "Yeah, and she almost didn't make it." He was struck with images of Buffy lying motionlessly in the hospital bed for three days.  
  
A year and a half ago, a few months after Willow and Tara had left, Xander had been offered a job in Reno, working for a growing construction firm, specializing in resorts. Xander of course took the offer (almost a little too eager to leave Sunnydale, he thought to himself bitterly), and Anya closed the magic box in Sunnydale and reopened it in Nevada.  
  
With all of her friends gone, and not wanting to ask them back, to put themselves back into the danger they had just left behind, Buffy attempted to avert an apocalypse by herself. She succeeded, but not before she was brutally beaten. Even for a Slayer. She, nearly dead, was found by two early morning joggers in Weatherly Park. It was still a wonder to all that she had been able to stay alive a night defencelessly in the infamous park. It made Xander's blood run cold to even think what could have happened.  
  
She was rushed to Sunnydale ICU. Spike didn't leave her side for the entire three days, didn't rest once. That was the turning point for Xander, who began to see him in the same light and respect he had been beginning to show the summer when Buffy had been. gone.  
  
The group made a pact on the first night they were all together; if Buffy ever asked for help, they would be there, no matter what. She was never to find out about it, or she would never ask them to come, feeling they'd be bound solely by the promise, which was really nothing more than cementing what they were already intending to do themselves.  
  
Which was why Xander and Anya were in the desert, somewhere between Reno and Sunnydale, melting.  
  
"Let's play a game," Anya announced, and Xander took this as an unspoken peace offering. "Twenty questions. Go."  
  
"Okay. Is it bigger than a breadbox?"  
  
"'Bout the same size."  
  
"Is it a bread box?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"It's alive?"  
  
"Yes, it's alive."  
  
"Is it a type of demon?" (With Anya it had about a 50/50 chance of being a specimen of demon.)  
  
"Nope. Sixteen."  
  
"So, it's the same size as a breadbox and it's alive. Huh. Is it a b- pet?" Xander had very nearly said the B-word (Bunny).  
  
"Not what people like to call a pet but the same idea. Now fourteen. You're getting very close."  
  
"Small, alive, and like a pet but not? Hmm. Do we have one?"  
  
"Not yet, but we will."  
  
"All right." Xander tried to think in Anya terms. That was the real trick to this game he had discovered after playing it endlessly for twelve hours when they had driven to the East Coast. "Small, alive, like a pet but not, and we'll be getting one."  
  
Anya was surprised by how long this was taking him. She counted silently, drumming her nails against the dashboard.  
  
1..2.3.  
  
"Babies!!! Are we having babies? No, one, we're having just one. Right? Are we having one?" Xander stopped the car in the middle of the highway and Anya was silently thankful she had had the forethought not to tell him while driving through town.  
  
"Yes, we're going to have a baby. One. A boy," she told him matter of factly. His face was red, she decided, but in a good way. That book she'd gotten yesterday after the doctor's appointment said to expect shock at the beginning. Sure she and Xander had talked about kids, but nothing had ever been planned.  
  
After a pause, Xander unbuckled his seat belt and opened his door.  
  
"Xander, what are you doing? People drive on roads."  
  
He climbed out and went around to her side of the car. He opened it and began to undo her seatbelt. He led her out of the car and held her around the waist.  
  
"Now people dance on them," he replied simply, and began to hum the only happy Billie Holiday song he knew. 


End file.
